Well Jesus Said So
So I left my phone at home this morning as well as managed to lose the $3 I had scrounged up to buy myself breakfast.
These are the only two ways I get through my 10:10 class. It's English 100. It blows. I've read almost every single thing we've covered in the class already. But of course, I don't have a memory for details, so it is merely frustrating.
Anyway. So in lieu of having breakfast or a way to count the minutes until class was over, I kinda... told my professor just what I think about his style of interpreting every single thing we read.
Which is to say, every decent writer is writing about JESUS.
So after about 10 minutes of him positing yet another theory of biblical references in a modern play, I interrupted him and asked him where the hell he got those ideas; whether he just pulled them out of his ass or this was actually a critical argument.
Obviously stated a little less vehemently.
After I kinda vented about being able to interpret anything you want into literature, his response was the I-teach-grad-school-creative-writing-classes equivalent of "yeah but I asked the author."
WTF. Cop OUT. Yeah, sure, Alan Singer; when you talked about Shakespeare did you ask him his interepretation of his work as well? Do you have an intimate relationship with Franz Kafka? Did you call Joseph Conrad up on the phone and have a chat? You probably did spam the e-mail inbox of Jesus whilst reading the New Testament, and most of that spam is naked pictures of you jacking off on the Bible.
It was probably more along the lines of Edward Albee doing a reading or something and my professor, a young hobbit at the time, being that annoying dude who asks inane questions and sits in the front row and thinks that every time you go to take a question from someone you're pointing to him.
And then, to top it all off, he admitted that he not only was a professor of Undergraduate English as WELL as Graduate Creative Writing, but he was also a writer himself.
Really. I never would have thought that. The atmospheric regard you have for yourself and your brilliance could no way be because you think you are Jesus' gift to literature.
The only good thing about this is that I came directly to Anderson computer lab to vent about this (instead of going to Sev and getting food) and consequently ran into Maddee and Kayla and now we're going to get food and that makes me happy.
Woohooo.
Also, I finished the first half of my capstone paper at a reasonable time last night and now I just have to proofread it.
Next up?
4 pages of regurgitation about aforementioned Jesus interpretation of "The Zoo Story"
<10 pages on Gays in the Military and why despite Bill Clinton's sexy attempts to outlaw this we still have the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. Yeah, I said sexy. I haven't started the research for this yet, though.
110 pages of reading -- everyone else's capstone paper in my class.
Note: the above three bulletpoints are all due on the 24th.
The complete 20 pages of my capstone paper.
Take home final for English 100.
Final for my gay class.
And then I am done. W00ty w00t.
bee-tee-dub, y'all -- That dude who shot up all of Virginia Tech yesterday was a troubled English major.
These are the only two ways I get through my 10:10 class. It's English 100. It blows. I've read almost every single thing we've covered in the class already. But of course, I don't have a memory for details, so it is merely frustrating.
Anyway. So in lieu of having breakfast or a way to count the minutes until class was over, I kinda... told my professor just what I think about his style of interpreting every single thing we read.
Which is to say, every decent writer is writing about JESUS.
So after about 10 minutes of him positing yet another theory of biblical references in a modern play, I interrupted him and asked him where the hell he got those ideas; whether he just pulled them out of his ass or this was actually a critical argument.
Obviously stated a little less vehemently.
After I kinda vented about being able to interpret anything you want into literature, his response was the I-teach-grad-school-creative-writing-classes equivalent of "yeah but I asked the author."
WTF. Cop OUT. Yeah, sure, Alan Singer; when you talked about Shakespeare did you ask him his interepretation of his work as well? Do you have an intimate relationship with Franz Kafka? Did you call Joseph Conrad up on the phone and have a chat? You probably did spam the e-mail inbox of Jesus whilst reading the New Testament, and most of that spam is naked pictures of you jacking off on the Bible.
It was probably more along the lines of Edward Albee doing a reading or something and my professor, a young hobbit at the time, being that annoying dude who asks inane questions and sits in the front row and thinks that every time you go to take a question from someone you're pointing to him.
And then, to top it all off, he admitted that he not only was a professor of Undergraduate English as WELL as Graduate Creative Writing, but he was also a writer himself.
Really. I never would have thought that. The atmospheric regard you have for yourself and your brilliance could no way be because you think you are Jesus' gift to literature.
The only good thing about this is that I came directly to Anderson computer lab to vent about this (instead of going to Sev and getting food) and consequently ran into Maddee and Kayla and now we're going to get food and that makes me happy.
Woohooo.
Also, I finished the first half of my capstone paper at a reasonable time last night and now I just have to proofread it.
Next up?
Note: the above three bulletpoints are all due on the 24th.
And then I am done. W00ty w00t.
bee-tee-dub, y'all -- That dude who shot up all of Virginia Tech yesterday was a troubled English major.